


Vide Cor Meum

by Cosmo_Donatien



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Post Finale, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 20:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmo_Donatien/pseuds/Cosmo_Donatien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life she knew would eventually have to die, and he along with it. There could be no loose ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. E PENSANDO DI LEI

**Author's Note:**

> This work is comprised of fifteen short chapters. I am also fucking with time.

**I: And thinking of her**

 

Doctor Hannibal Lecter sat behind his desk, ensconced in his dimly lit office, considering his next move. He smiled sadly to himself as he recalled Abigail Hobbs’ words;

_“Are you going to kill me?”_

The frightened confusion bleeding into those ice blue eyes at his cryptic response had both excited and wounded him; he was honest with her and it pained him to see how little she understood of her situation and of him, yet the control he wielded over her as she stared up at him had tempted him to test her words. He could snap her neck then and there; she was expecting it as much as she didn’t want to believe it.

He resisted.

It was true; he couldn’t really protect her, not right then, but he could help her to hide away until he could take her elsewhere. He would set her down on the path to a new life free from the looming shadow of her father and from the critical eyes of Jack Crawford and his FBI.

He had placed her in one of the properties he had acquired for the purpose of hiding himself if he ever needed to; he had purchased it using one of his false identities and the funds had been wired from an untraceable offshore account. It was nothing special, not somewhere the authorities would look for him initially, and was there purely as a stopgap in the event that he would need to escape the country. He kept the cupboards stocked and spare clothes for himself in a locked closet; when he had made the decision to help Abigail Hobbs he had purchased some essential items he knew she would be in need of.

He moved through his house with a fluid grace, checking locks, drawing curtains and extinguishing lights before ascending to the upper level to retire for the night. His mind was taxed, his mood sombre as he considered the changes wrought on his previously watertight contingency measures. Abigail was a game changer and he would need to mould her into something more capable than the instinctive survivor she has proven herself to be.

As he slid between the cool sheets of his bed he concluded his plan; the life she knew would eventually have to die, and he along with it. There could be no loose ends.


	2. MI SOPRAGIUNSE UNO SOAVE SONNO

**II: Sweet sleep overcame me**

 

She paced; it was all Abigail Hobbs could do. She couldn’t go outside, couldn’t even venture past the front door – he had made her promise not to, and she had meant it when she said she wouldn’t.

She was convinced he would kill her; he had revealed himself to her – not completely, she knew, but he had told her enough to warrant killing her surely? Yet he had not. He had instead wiped away her tears and held her a little longer before leading her out of her childhood home and to his car. They had remained silent as he drove them through the early evening and well into the night across state lines; he had taken her as far as Harrisburg where he pulled up outside a small apartment complex. He led her wordlessly to the third floor and opened the door to number 16; it was dark inside – all the blinds were drawn – and the furniture was covered in dust sheets that he proceeded to whip off as he moved from room to room. He spoke only to introduce the rooms, ending with the small kitchen; he opened the cupboards to reveal that they were well stocked with long-life foodstuffs, enough for her to survive on for at least a month he had assured her. The freezer was similarly well stocked. As she trailed him back to the front door of the apartment he had gestured to a small suitcase; he’d bought her some new, though plain, clothing. If her mind hadn’t been in such a haze of confusion she would have had the manners to thank him – he seemed to know exactly the state she was in however, and did not require a word from her.

“I shall return for you once my affairs are in order,” he had informed her as he neatly folded the dust sheets he still held.

That was three weeks ago.

In her time alone Abigail had listened to the sounds of the apartment block and surmised that there weren’t many residents; she supposed that was one of the reasons he had bought the place. Boredom had soon become a demon to her; it burrowed into her brain and scratched around day and night, making her feel like she wanted to climb out of her own skin. There was no radio, no television, nothing. There were a grand total of seven books in the living room and she had read them cover to cover twice over; they clearly did not belong to Doctor Lecter... though she allowed herself a small smile at the thought of him reading the trashy romance novel she held. Idly, she flipped the book open at a random page and scanned the page:

_“It was as stormy a kiss as the last time, but different. He was angry with her; she was angry with him. But far more than anger was at work between them. This time she wasn't in control. She was drowning in feeling, in the taste of him, and the scent of his skin and the feel of his hard body under hers, and his hand so tight in her hair, possessive._

_A lifetime had passed since a man had held her like this.”_

Abigail snickered and tossed the book back on to the coffee table. “’Silk is for Seduction’ indeed,” she mused aloud. Just then she felt a coldness steal through her; reading the excerpt had brought to her attention one of the needs that the Good Doctor hadn’t foreseen. Her frustrations had extended beyond the boredom of disengagement from daily activity to the sexual. Initially she had felt uncomfortable in the apartment and so hadn’t attended to her needs immediately; after it had become apparent that he wasn’t returning to her anytime soon, she had locked herself in the bathroom and fingered herself in the shower, keeping herself as quiet as possible. This became a daily routine for her until it stopped working; since that frustrating morning she hadn’t managed to bring herself off and her frustration continued to build daily. She glared at the cover of the trashy novel and wondered how long she would have to wait before she felt the same passion as _Marcelline Noirotis_ did with the _Duke of Clevedon_ , or how long until she would simply be held.

She had been dreaming of great romances, and of secret trysts; by day she blamed it on the novels she had been left with and the lack of any social company, but by night she wished she were inside the stories being wooed and seduced by Lord So-and-so. Just sometimes the Lord seemed a little too familiar – his hair slicked back , his cheekbones more pronounced, his lips set in a sensuous line – and she would wake, confused and frustrated, her mind clutching at the last vestiges of her dreams but never quite able to recall them.

As she awaited his return she considered what might happen. Would he merely restock the kitchen cupboards? Or would he come for her, as promised, and take her someplace else? Either way, she couldn’t stay cooped up in the apartment much longer.

She needed him to return sooner rather than later, lest she succumb to her dreams and never awaken.


	3. EGO DOMINUS TUUS

**III: I am your master**

 

Baltimore life grated on Doctor Lecter; his ears picked up on the words of his patients, and his mouth formed the requisite measured responses, asked the relevant questions, but his mind was employed elsewhere.

He sensed a window of opportunity was fast approaching. He would soon be able to move Abigail from his apartment and out of the country. He had made a few discreet calls and tracked down the gentleman that had made his last forged identity; his services didn’t come cheap, but the Good Doctor had learned that quality wasn’t without its expense and in this case he could afford a shoddy job far less.

He had intended to take a vacation in the coming month and had long ago cleared his appointments for this purpose, although he would be spending the time securing Abigail’s freedom and safety, it provided a good cover story. He had booked his flight to Florence months ago, and would not cancel it – he had called ahead to the hotel to ensure his reservation would not be cancelled despite his absence; they had found it odd, but agreed. He had used the funds from the account he had set up for his alias and had booked a series of national flights for two, then some international flights – he would seek accommodation at each destination rather than in advance to allow for changes in his plans.

Idly he wondered whether Abigail had stayed in the apartment as he had requested, or whether he would arrive there to find her gone. She knew survival by manipulation; she would have no chance if she ran from his help now. He hoped she had more sense than to run, liked to think that he knew she did. No, she had seen what he was capable of, and he would use her fear of that knowledge to ensure her compliance; if she fought him or sought help elsewhere she would jeopardise not only her own freedom but his too, and then she would find herself truly alone as he had spent decades ensuring he would be able to disappear should the need arise. The Good Doctor was confident that he could save Abigail Hobbs from a fate behind bars, but he would need to employ his own brand of manipulation to ensure her complete co-operation; she would belong to him until he decided to set her free.

He picked over his newly rearranged plans and considered where the pawns would need to sit before he could make his next move. Will wasn’t a problem at the moment. Curiously, the Doctor had noted that Alana had been keeping her distance from him; she seemed to sense a building tension within him and was wise to stay away for the time being. He had nothing against his colleague and didn’t particularly want her to get embroiled in matters that would put her at risk so he left her to it, knowing she was in a state of mourning for Will Graham. Jack Crawford was silent and stoic as ever – he wasted no time with anything now; to his mind the copycat was caught, and he had understandably taken to spending his spare time with Bella. Neither Alana, Jack nor Bella had come to see Doctor Lecter for their problems since Will was imprisoned; in different circumstances this might have irked him, but for the time being it suited his purposes.

The board was set and the clock ticking.


	4. VIDE COR TUUM

**IV: See your heart**

 

Abigail was abruptly awoken by the sound of the front door squeaking on its hinges. She sat bolt upright in bed, one hand clutching the comforter to herself while the other slipped under the pillow behind her to close around the handle of the paring knife she had taken from the kitchen; with wide eyes she stared at the bedroom doorknob, waiting for it to creak as it turned.

It didn’t open.

She heard measured footsteps move past her door and into the kitchen where cupboard doors were slowly opened and gently closed before the sound of the boiling kettle filled the apartment and drowned out all other noise. Abigail turned to squint at the clock on her bedside table – the glaring red digits proclaimed it to be 5:48AM – what was he doing there so early? Was he unable to get away before? Did anybody know where he’d gone? Her terror at the thought of being found sat in the pit of her stomach, a cold hard lump that she tried to shift by telling herself that he wasn’t careless like that.

She slipped out of bed, wrapped herself in the fluffy bathrobe she had found in the wardrobe two weeks previously, took a deep breath, and opened the bedroom door as quietly as she could. She padded barefoot down the dark hallway toward the kitchen; the door was closed, but the light from within shone around the edges. She rapped lightly with her knuckles and awaited a response.

“Come in, Abigail,” his voice beckoned through the thin door – his accent sounded thicker than she remembered. She slipped into the room and dallied by the door; Doctor Lecter had his back to her as he prepared tea, all but his hands kept rigidly still. She felt like she ought to say something to him but couldn’t seem to string a sentence together; she wanted to laugh, to cry, to have some sort of emotional outpouring but she felt stoppered. She wanted to be held again, to have her hair stroked and to be told she was safe and that she didn’t need to sleep with a knife under her pillow. “Why don’t you go and sit in the living room,” he suggested softly, “I will bring you some tea.” Dazedly, she nodded and exited the kitchen. She sat carefully at one end of the couch, wrapping her bathrobe a little tighter around herself and worrying at the material of the cuff as she waited for him.

The Doctor sat next to her but kept a respectable distance. He took a moment to study her – she seemed diminished in some way – her eyes were downturned and she sat almost huddled into herself, and this surprised him; he hadn’t been gone all that long. He had steeled himself for this visit – he was banking on her absolute trust in him, but now he saw she was more reliant upon him than he had hoped; this development pleased him.

“It is time to move on,” he began and her eyes flew to his face, as though she thought he wasn’t serious. “We will leave in the early hours of tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” she croaked in response, voice unused to speaking. Her mind was in a whirl as she absorbed the fact that she was leaving the apartment. “Where are we going?” she queried quietly after a moment.

“First we will go to Houston, and from there we will fly into Mexico,” he explained. “We will be picking up new identity papers for you en route to Lancaster.”

“Mexico?”

“It will be a stopgap. We will not be staying there for long.”

“Where will we go from Mexico?”

He gave her a knowing glance, quirking his lips in a gesture that told her he knew exactly what she was going to ask. “That would spoil the surprise.”

“But-”

“Do you trust me, Abigail?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then that is enough.” He sat back on the couch and sipped at his tea. “I will tell you more once we have left Mexico.” She realised then that he wasn’t telling her because they needed to get as far as Mexico first and foremost; going anywhere from there was not the first priority. He stood from his seat and regarded her for a moment with dark eyes. “There is a bag in the wardrobe; pack only a few clothes and basic toiletries. I will return after midnight and we will leave immediately.” Abigail could only nod in response to his sudden statements. Apparently satisfied, he nodded once and left the apartment block. She heard his car start and purr into the night, leaving her alone once again, although now she didn’t feel quite so claustrophobic.

Knowing she would not be able to sleep, Abigail made her way to the bathroom for her usual morning shower; for the first time in a month she felt almost none of the frustration that had plagued her. She was one step closer to a new life.

 

* * *

 

True to his word, Doctor Lecter had arrived at the apartment at a quarter past midnight; she had been ready for hours, had packed just after he had left the morning before. He moved to the locked closet and removed a bag of his own before checking the apartment was in a fit state to leave; he emptied the trashcan in the kitchen and brought the refuse sack with him to throw down the garbage chute. He ushered Abigail out of the door and into the chilly midnight; they got into his car and as they pulled away from the curb she felt a pang of sadness to be leaving the apartment she had come to think of as home.

Neither spoke on the journey, the only sound the muffled roar of the road beneath them and the soft strains of the classical station the Doctor had tuned the radio to. After half and hour spent staring at her own reflection in the window, Abigail turned her attention to the man beside her; his eyes were completely focused on the road as he hummed quietly along to the radio. Doctor Lecter was a mystery to Abigail; she had spent considerable time over the past month trying to work out just why he was helping her. She would find her answers eventually, she knew, but she would have to wait until he saw fit to tell her and she could be waiting a long time for him to impart that knowledge. Just inside Lancaster he turned off the route to the airport and into a residential area, pulling up outside a respectable looking house.

“Wait here,” he said, reaching across her to fetch a manila envelope from the glove compartment by her knees. She watched as he exited the car straightened his jacket on his way around the side of the house, disappearing into the shadows; after a few minutes he came striding out of the same shadows, manila envelope replaced by a small package. He handed her the bundle once back in the car. “Your new identity and all relevant supporting documents,” he supplied. “Keep the passport and put the rest in your bag once we get to the airport,” he instructed.

Abigail rummaged in the package and flipped to the back page of the passport – she didn’t stop to wonder where the Doctor had got the picture for the passport. “Leida Hirsch?” she questioned and made a face.

“Your passport needed to match mine,” he offered by way of explanation, “I am Doctor Gregor Hirsch.”

“I see,” she responded flatly before realising she ought to thank him. “You really have gone to a lot of trouble to help me, Doctor Lecter; I don’t know how I should thank you.”

“No need, _Leida_ ,” he responded, emphasising her new name.

“I’m going to need to get used to that, aren’t I?”

“It won’t take as long as you think. The issue will be stopping yourself from responding to ‘Abigail’ every time you hear it.”

“So what’s the relationship?”

“Excuse me?”

“Between Leida and Gregor? Obviously related, but how?”

“I’ll leave that one up to you.”

“Hmm... we don’t look alike. So, maybe you can be my uncle? Or a distant cousin, perhaps?”

The Doctor thought for a moment before a small smile crept across his face. “You are my niece, born and educated in the United States as per your passport, hence your lack of a foreign accent but heavily Germanic name. Your father was my half-brother who fell in love at university and moved to America to marry your mother,” he continued to reel off backstory as they neared the airport; Abigail had a feeling he enjoyed inventing their life stories. “Your parents both died in a tragic boating accident last year and I am now your guardian,” he finished.

“A tragic boating accident?”

“Trust me, you shouldn’t need to go into detail. Besides, you weren’t there when it happened and you’re too young to know all of the details surrounding their deaths. If it comes to it, I will explain for you.” He almost sounded jovial.

They arrived at Lancaster airport and ‘Doctor Hirsch’ parked the car in the long stay lot. Abigail placed the document containing her identity papers in her bag and followed him into the airport. He led her to the check in desk and handed both of their passports to the attendant – Abigail held her breath as he checked their documents; she fought to maintain her composure when he handed them back to the Doctor and wished them both a safe journey.

It was the same at the William P Hobby airport in Houston, her documents were fine and she felt a thrill go through her at the realisation that nobody knew who she was – their identities were another secret they shared on this particular journey. They jumped on their next flight almost immediately to Mexico City where the Doctor informed her they would have a four hour wait. Once they had collected their bags he purchased two cups of coffee and sandwiches for them; she smiled as his lips curled in distaste at the inferior coffee, and at how he poked at his sandwich distrustfully.

“It won’t bite,” she laughed. He cocked his head to one side and regarded her curiously for a moment before he took his first bite. “So where are we going next?”

He finished the mouthful of sandwich and took a swig of the bitter coffee. “London.”


End file.
